Shattered
by The Lilac Pilgrim
Summary: Black market dealer Ziggy is becoming desperate, but as luck would have it there's a certain wingless fairy he used to know running amok whose capture is worth a pretty sum of money... Rated for upcoming violence and language.


**Author's Note**:_ I am not sorry for writing this. I actually like the sort of fairy-world setting and I don't think there's any harm in a loosely-related-to-the-characters murder and manipulation-y story, right? Right?_

_Pfft. You guys knew what my stories were like when you got here. Unless you didn't. To which I say: Hi. How's it going?_

_Anyway. It seems kind of short, this first chapter. I apologise and hope that the next chapter is better._

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><p>The pain in his fingertips from having to prise open the stubborn door to his apartment didn't bother him as much as the disgust he felt looking around the dingy living space he called 'home'. It was a bare-bones sort of arrangement. A single light fixture right in the centre of the ceiling, a flat couch pointed towards a slightly cracked television set, a worn old carpet that barely reached the edges of the floor. There was a table but he didn't trust it enough to put anything heavier than a single two-year-old newspaper atop it.<p>

What was worse was that the bulb had gone out and he certainly didn't trust the goods he kept in the storage space to fix it. So he would have to spend the night musing by the light of the old cathode-ray tube. The entire atmosphere of the den made his skin itch something terrible and he couldn't help but scratch the back of his neck fiercely, in the manner of a diseased urchin with mites under his skin.

Ziggy's life hadn't always been like this. He'd taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way but it was one of those cases in which he didn't really know _where_. To him it felt like it must have been centuries ago. No matter how much time he spent reflecting on his ridiculously non-enchanted past he couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment. Were there things he'd do over if given the chance? Well, undoubtedly. There were betrayals and disappointments, there were lost loves and missed opportunities, just like every other person who ever lived. Yet unlike a lot of people he knew who would bitch endlessly about that _one __thing_ in their past that was_surely_ to blame for their life going down the drain, he couldn't think of that thing. Not that it mattered entirely as he was certain that a right turn was going to show up at some point down the line.

If he managed to evade arrest or even survive long enough to take it.

Sighing, he dropped onto the couch, which gave a shrill squeak and curved down towards the grimy carpet underneath. Watching TV after an unsuccessful evening's trade was almost a ritual for him. It allowed him to become dull and distracted. It let him forget the troubles of the day. He'd never understood why people watched soap operas before he took that wrong turn. Not that he would ever admit to watching them even now. And he definitely wasn't emotionally invested in the relationship between socialite Candy and working class fairy Andy on that one that was popular with the over-50s crowd.

Knowing he would never get comfortable on the couch that protested against his weight, he leaned back, allowing his wings to crumple slightly into the uneven foam cushions. There was a movie on, something about a café and a captain and… well, he wasn't really following the plot. He'd been tired lately. Too tired, and for too long. Exhausted was the word he'd use. Like his body had already decided for him that nothing was worth the effort of staying awake. Sometimes it just seemed like it might be easier to just… disappear. If that idea didn't make him feel sick to his stomach he just might have gone through with it.

God, he didn't know _why_ he felt so _rotten_ lately. His last sale had taken place months before, that likely contributed. And he'd been so damned _desperate_ to make a sale that he'd practically assaulted that new start – whatsisface, the guy with something to do with skates – to do it. He had always been a master at taking every opportunity that presented itself to him, of manipulating people, of using his _charm_ to his advantage.

_Well, what the hell had happened?_

That last sale. It had _worked_, which was unbelievable. Charm and style had gone out the window by that point, he was going in for the kill far too early and pushing the obvious buttons and yet, somehow, it had _worked_. It should have made him feel better but he'd already decided that whosit must have been _a__fucking__simpleton_. That was the only explanation. Making any sales should have made him feel better about himself but that was way too easy.

Who was stupid enough to pay _$100 _for talc and chalk?

Rubbing his temples, he groaned loudly. He was losing his touch, his charm and now his focus.

He'd earn a better living selling _himself_ on the streets.

Slumped in his seat, his wings aching, it suddenly dawned on him that he was watching _the__news_. If there was anything he didn't want to watch at that precise moment, it was the news. As if life wasn't depressing enough.

The couch seemed to sigh gratefully as he rose to change the channel, not having a remote for such an old television set. It was irritating but it was practically the only exercise he got of late other than running from the police. His eyes were still fixed to the hypnotic, brightly coloured screen, but instead of the same old sullen expression he normally wore, a look of shock began to emerge. His finger brushed the 'up' button, but he couldn't bring himself to press it, for on his tiny screen they were showing someone he _knew_.

"…_the former caseworker, known as Tracy, was spotted heading towards Extinction Hill carrying the wings and incisors of his latest victim Miss Janey…"_

Tracy.

Surely not the same Tracy? Not six-foot-nine Tracy, the 'gentle giant'? Immediately, Ziggy dropped to his knees in order to get a better view of the screen.

"…_we believe Tracy to be armed and dangerous. If spotted, do not approach. If you have any information regarding his whereabouts or place of residence, please call…"_

The picture flashed up again; underneath it was the phone number to call with any info. A flood of lost memories and forgotten emotions came rushing through his mind and threatened to release itself as incoherent mumblings which caught in time in the back of the dealer's throat. It was _him_, there was no mistaking it. The smooth, pale skin. Long, slender, sensitive neck. Thin, soft lips. Those sparkling blue eyes that used to be full of ambition… they now seemed to be full of longing.

That was the only thing that was different about him in the image, but it was definitely _him_.

"Oh my _God_."

Still stinging fingertips grazed the screen, which crackled with static, as though it would help him make the news more real. As though it would bring Tracy to him and he could get some kind of explanation. What was the fairy he used to know _doing_? _Stealing__people__'__s__wings_. He'd known about the other man's insecurities but this was… not right.

Wasn't it always the people you least suspected?

The news story ending, his finger moved from the spot on the screen where Tracy's face had been displayed back to the 'up' button.

"…_a reward for anyone who gives us information instrumental to the capture of this dangerous fairy…"_

Wait. A reward?

Suddenly the _news_ was much more interesting. Quickly, he turned the volume dial only to be rewarded with some drivel about zero gravity football. _Damnit._ But it was fine. Everything was _fine_ now. From what he knew of the TV schedule, this story would be repeated again in an hour. A plan was forming. It was dangerous, idiotic, possibly a little bit crazy. But if it worked…

No more running.

No more of this dank apartment with its faulty wiring and its uncomfortable couch and its ironing board the place had the audacity to call a _bed_.

Slowly, for the first time in months, Ziggy smiled.

It was about time he paid his old flame a visit.


End file.
